Personal Shopper
by vixoss
Summary: -I want you. Ryoma froze at the message. -You're not Ryoga. Ryoga would never tell him that he wanted him, even if it was for the sake of mind-fucking him. The unknown number sent him a new message. -Now you're scared. Echizen Ryoma takes on a job as Yukimura Seiichi's personal shopper when he returns to America. However, this job is a bit more dangerous than expected. Discontinued


**Personal Shopper**

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I don't owe Prince of Tennis.

 **Genre** : Mystery, Romance

 **Pairing** : YukiRyo/Sensual Pair. I can imagine why they're called "sensual pair" since they're both the definition of sensual. ^^

 **Summary** : _I want you._ Ryoma froze at the message. _You're not Ryoga._ Ryoga would never tell him that _he wanted him_ , even if it was for the sake of mind-fucking him. The unknown number sent him a new message. _Now you're scared._ Echizen Ryoma takes on a job as Yukimura Seiichi's personal shopper when he returns to America. AU

 **A/N:** I didn't imagined that the story would turn out like this but now I'm glad it did. Furthermore this story is based on the same-titled movie "Personal Shopper" with Kristen Stewart. The original title of the movie was just so peeeerfect for this story, so I just had to take it. The movie is great by the way, def. worthy of checking it out. 😉

* * *

 _Chapter 1_

 _A Personal Shopper_

* * *

The dying autumn leaves crunched under Ryoma's white sneakers as he was on his way to the house of a man who might become his employer today. The house was located in the outskirts of the city where plenty of trees, now half-barren because of the season, and nature grew. Here in America, it was certainly colder than in Japan.

Ryoma caught a first glimpse of his potential employer's house.

The exterior design of the house reflected the Tudor architecture style, which was nice to look at, even though Ryoma thought it was a little too old-fashioned. He had always preferred the modern era in which he was living now over the medieval one. As an individual of millennial era, he had always been terrified and paranoid of being reborn in the Dark Ages which had brought death and suffering upon the people who had lived in that time.

In spite of that the medieval era certainly had a good taste in architecture.

Ryoma approached the house, about to ring the doorbell when he noticed that the heavy door with a glass window above wasn't even closed, but opened ajar instead. He frowned at his potential employer's lack of responsibility, even though he knew that his potential employer had meant it well by leaving the door open for him, so that he wouldn't have to ring the bell.

The hallway behind the door mirrored the house's exterior design, a welcoming palette of ocher and brown hues in terms of colors. However, it was empty, so Ryoma took it as an invitation to enter the house further and search for his potential employer.

"Excuse me? Is a Mr. Yukimura Seiichi here?" Ryoma called out in English, even though he was sure that his potential employer must've known how to speak Japanese judging by his Japanese name. The overwhelming majority of Japanese could still speak their native language, even if they grew up in countries outside Japan, which was something that should not be taken for granted. There was no guarantee that a person could speak their own native language if they'd grown up in a country that was not their home-country.

"That would be me," a male voice spoke up from the floor above, interrupting Ryoma's train of thought, drawing his attention upstairs.

When Ryoma laid his eyes on his potential employer, he had thought that the other had a terrible sense of fashion considering the ugly greyish-white sweater with zig-zag brown stripes at the bottom he was wearing, but at the same time he happened to have an extremely attractive face. Sharp, defined features. Blue eyes. Full lips. A toned, graceful neck. A lean and strong body devoid of excess body fat. Just what he took pleasure in looking at.

Ryoma had expected some old geezer who couldn't move from their couch anymore as his potential employer, not this _gift_ for the eyes. He wanted to take a photo of him and stare at him forever, his chest suddenly feeling hot.

"And you're Echizen Ryoma?"

Just like Ryoma, he was talking to him in English instead of Japanese, probably because Ryoma had started it first. Suddenly Ryoma felt odd for having talked to a fellow Japanese in English.

Ryoma nodded. "Yes."

"Come upstairs, then," Yukimura told him, still using English as their language of communication.

Ryoma caught sight of the other's dust blue Chucks that were slightly darker than his jeans, mulling over the fact that they would've looked good in combination with another top, but with this outfit they were just a no go. They just cheapened this outfit further. In the back of his mind, Ryoma rudely wondered if that guy rather needed a personal _stylist_ than personal shopper.

However, before Ryoma could enter the room upstairs, his potential employer had poked his head through the doorframe, blocking Ryoma's way. _"Oh and by the way, boya. You can talk to me in Japanese. There's no need to speak English with me unless you want to."_

The young man had switched to Japanese in a blink of an eye, catching Ryoma off guard. Ryoma blinked stupidly. " _Yeah- yeah, of course_ ," he replied in Japanese as well but he stumbled with the words, suddenly having forgotten how to speak his native language because of the other's abruptness.

The other smiled before he disappeared into the room behind him. "Very good."

His living room upstairs was quaint and messy in two words. Stacks of books were piled on the dark oak table before and also in the bookshelf behind him, not seeming to have been sorted in any order at all. The carpet covering the floor was brown and ugly patterned, making Ryoma frown and wonder if his potential employer had a thing for things that were just hard on the eyes. The other was sitting on the black leather couch behind the dark oak table while Ryoma had to stand, not having been offered the opportunity to sit. Beside the couch, however, there was _nowhere_ to sit. He could've only sat right next to his potential employer, either on the left or right side of him.

This was certainly rude of his potential employer but when Ryoma wanted to ponder about it, he already was showered by Yukimura with a series of facts about himself, which cut off his thoughts.

"So, you're nineteen, fresh out of University with a degree in English and E-sport. You speak English on a native level because you used to live in America when you were young. You're also not only gifted in English but diverse other languages as well. Quite some good qualifications."

Yukimura smirked after having listed all of Ryoma's remarkable points which he had mentioned in his application for employment and Ryoma was surprised at the other's good memory. All of his previous employers had either needed to print out his application documents or bring in them digitalized form on a tablet unlike Yukimura had just memorized everything important about him.

"So, what brings you here? Why are you interested in this job as my personal shopper?"

The click of a lighter and a lit cigarette told Ryoma that his potential employer smoked, which made him seem less "nice" and more rugged instead. Ryoma swallowed, not knowing why he was suddenly tensing up and why he was intrigued by the change of impression he caught from his potential employer.

"To be honest…I'm just looking for a simple job that pays well and that will allow me to start as soon as possible without too many interview rounds."

The other man's sensual lips stretched into a curious smile. "What's the rush? And, shouldn't be you sugar-coating your intentions more, boya?"

"I'm looking for my brother. I need the money to live here and to find him. And, I don't believe in sugar-coating my intentions."

"If they can make me empathize with you?" Yukimura finished for him with a raised eyebrow.

Ryoma didn't answer, then he echoed the other's words, "If they can make you empathize with me."

That wasn't the reason. Ryoma was lying about it. The reason behind Ryoma's straightforwardness was darker, sadder.

The other laughed. "Quite straightforward of you, aren't you? Not afraid it will cost you?"

"Nope," Ryoma answered nonchalantly. It wouldn't be his straightforwardness that would cost him but the lack of it. He was already shouldering the burden of his cowardice and his mistake of having turned on a blind eye to injustice, which had robbed him off his innocence and self-respect. It shouldn't have been that way, and it was taking all out of Ryoma to carry the burden of his mistake, let alone to fix it.

"Alright," Yukimura stated "You're hired. You can start right now, go to the supermarket and buy me some groceries. Here's the list and the money."

-§-

When Ryoma returned, they discussed his paycheck and his schedule. He would be paid in cash and whenever he made the purchases for Yukimura instead of being paid on a fee basis. The distance he needed to travel would of course play a role in his payment as well. It just made more sense this way. And, Ryoma would have to be on call whenever Yukimura contacted him by either by phone-call or text-message.

He received his first pay in cold hard cash today and he was relieved about it. In addition to the amount of money he'd made and saved up during his time at the University, he would definitely be able to pay his rent and find Ryoga. With a bit of good luck, he might even have a good time while pursuing his goal of reuniting with his brother.

-§-

Ryoma's single apartment was ratty and run-down in one of the worse areas in the city, but luxury was not important to him right now. Once he had found Ryoga, he would either return to Japan and get a real job there, or he would quit as Yukimura's personal shopper first, stay in America and get a real job here. With his degree in E-sports he doubted that it would be a problem because it had taught him IT skills, which every employer valued regardless of the nation.

 _And, run from your sins by doing so, huh?_ His conscience reprimanded him.

 _I know, I know! I didn't mean it._ Ryoma retorted angrily in his mind.

 _But you were playing with the thought?_

Ryoma was silent.

 _You musn't do that, Ryoma. This is what will cost you._

Ryoma couldn't deny the accusation and exhaled, tossing down the Vogue magazine for men he had been currently reading.

Instead he pulled out his cellphone from his jeans, and flipped through the gallery which contained the pictures he had taken from his family photo album. The photos were old, having been taken by an old-fashioned camera, which used to be a big hit back then, because digital cameras or smartphones hadn't existed yet. Ryoma smiled fondly at the bitter-sweet memories tingled with nostalgia.

In the photos of the Echizen family, Ryoga was always glaring and bitter, always standing on the sidelines of the photos whereas Ryoma was always standing in the center and always smiling in contrast. Ryoma's chest tightened with guilt and he tossed his phone on the table.

 _Ryoga where are you?_

 _I'm here to find you._

Yes, righting the wrong was always a difficult thing to do, so it was better to avoid committing a wrong-doing but now it was not possible for Ryoma anymore.

Ryoma liked the world more when it had been less malicious, when it had allowed him to simply be a _brat_. Now that he was older, _old_ , he had to take on the burden of responsibility on his shoulders, and he hated that word which tasted like corrosive acid on his tongue.

-§-

In between the assignments that mostly consisted of getting food but occasionally also books for Yukimura, Ryoma had some time to check out some trinkets for men in a store. There was a necklace with the face of Mother Mary imprinted on a round-shaped pendant that interested him, and he palmed it in his hand to evaluate its weight when he received a text-message from his employer.

 _I need to see you, boya._

-§-

It turned out that his employer _painted_ in his free-time. He painted in his street-clothes without any protection that would save his clothes from getting stained but Ryoma guessed he simply didn't care.

Yukimura was quite skilled at it, not like those wannabe artists who thought they could draw but could only produce artworks so bad that they triggered eye-diseases instead. But this man was a genius at it. He was currently painting a bunch of yellow chrysanthemum flowers that looked so real Ryoma thought he could touch them. The artwork was beautiful and tasteful.

Ryoma swallowed. The artwork of the yellow chrysanthemum flowers was not Yukimura's only piece. He had also several other paintings that contained a naked woman with long dark hair, a single eye, a pair of wild wolves, also one that was an abstract, and many more that were placed at the back, against the wall.

"Do you like what you see, boya?" Yukimura asked him without turning around to grace him with a glance.

"It's…amazing," Ryoma said, approaching his employer.

"Would you like me to paint you as well?" Yukimura finally moved his gaze to Ryoma and smirked. "Would you like to be my _model_?"

"No, thank you. I'm not really into this type of stuff. Having to stay in one position for a long time gives me the creeps," Ryoma told him.

"I see but…I really think that it would be waste not to monetize your face. Have you ever thought of becoming a model? Asian models are a trend now."

Ryoma snorted. "Not really. And if any of us becomes a model, then I would say it would be _you._ I'm too short for it."

Thorough his life, Ryoma had received compliments about his looks. People loved them. All types of girls, be it young or old, or peers. He had always been showered with gifts on Valentine day and with love-confessions (or nowadays phone messages) that were an expression of their love and affection for him. Also guys liked his face, too, although in a platonic sense; in a sense that made them seek out his friendship and stick to him like glue in hope of getting more popular by just being in his presence.

One simply didn't look good in such a ratty uniform, even if one had the gorgeous face of a model.

Yukimura's smirk turned suave, sultry. "Huh, how _nice_ of you to find me attractive enough to be a model."

Ryoma blushed, then recollected himself, clearing his throat. "Physical beauty is objective. Don't get conceited."

"Hm, what do you mean by 'physical beauty is objective'?"

"Well, according to studies, there's a universal concept of physical beauty for men and women. Large eyes, long lashes, a small nose and full lips are considered as physically attractive traits for women. For men different characteristics are considered as attractive: a strong jawline, expressive eyes, and a sharp nose. However, in both cases, a lean face that carries as few excess fat as possible, and high cheekbones are regarded as a criteria of beauty."

"So this is what you see in me in regard of my face. How interesting. Well, but you do know that my looks tend to be rather feminine."

Yes, Ryoma knew and that was exactly what he found so attractive about him. The long lashes framing Yukimura's blue eyes, the shape of his full lips, the softer bone-structure of his face - Ryoma desired all of it.

"I know," Ryoma said with pretentiously casual shrug. "It fits you, though."

Yukimura Seiichi was a mystery, an odd blend of masculinity and feminity, not only in regard of physical looks. His mannerisms were masculine yet graceful, whereas his hobbies tended to be feminine.

Ryoma blushed, then swallowed dryly when his curious eyes drifted to Yukimura's toned yet graceful neck when the other wasn't looking.

"Boya, are you hungry?" Yukimura's voice snapped his shocked gaze back to his employer's face.

Ryoma's face lit up. " _You know how to cook_?"

Yukimura twinkled at him. "I would say so."

His employer put a hand on his lower back, leading him to the kitchen section of the living room, away from his artworks, away from a particular stack of half-finished works where a pencil sketch of Ryoma, featuring his face and his upper body, was hidden away – unbeknownst to Ryoma, of course.

-§-

Watching Yukimura cook or prepare the ingredients was a pleasure. He was skilled with a knife and a potato peeler, the former used to chop onions and the latter to peel vegetables. He was quick, efficient and suave in the kitchen, everything Ryoma could only dream of being when he entered this particular a warzone.

And, the best, he looked good while cooking; it was always a pleasure to watch an attractive man being good at cooking.

Yukimura made them a Japanese meal with rice and misosoup, Japanese prickled vegetables and hamburger steaks as main-dish with green asparagus and potatoes as side-dish.

Ryoma dug in like a hungry child, surprised that it tasted just like home. They were in America, yet Yukimura had managed to recreate the taste of authentic Japanese cooking to perfection.

"Mh, this is amazing!" Ryoma said happily while chewing.

"I'm glad you like it," Yukimura responded with a smile, taking a sip of his hot green tea in a traditional Japanese cup, ignoring his own meal for the moment.

"You sure are one hell of a cook," Ryoma added.

"Thank you." Then, Yukimura asked, " _And_ , do _you_ know how to cook?"

"I know how to boil water and how to pour it into instant ramen cups."

Yukimura chuckled. "Hn, I like your sense of humor. But I will take it as a "no"."

"No," Ryoma confirmed, remembering that it had always been his mother, Echizen Rinko who had cooked for him and the rest of the family. He occasionally offered to help but she always shooed him away, not because she didn't want his help, but because he always caused more trouble instead of helping. She always had more to do in the end.

But she never minded. She still always spoiled him (unlike Ryoga, who was their detested problem child, and Ryoma's stomach filled with acid at the thought).

Ryoma also remembered that her style of cooking was different from Yukimura's, more feminine, more graceful and with that less efficient. She was slower in the kitchen than Yukimura, and she was cooking rather like a housewife than a chief-cook, which was the impression Yukimura gave off when he was cooking.

If he had to choose between Yukimura's and his mother's cooking, then he would definitely say that he liked Yukimura's more. He could cook faster, his food had a better serving temperature and the taste of it was sharper.

Ryoma's cheek turned pink. A man who could cook like Yukimura was the perfect husband or boyfriend, but Ryoma didn't like dwelling on the thought, so he decided to dispell his thoughts by starting a conversation with Yukimura.

"Ehm, is there're a particular reason why you asked me to come here?" Ryoma inquired awkwardly.

"Hm, do I need a particular reason to ask you to come here? Can't I just enjoy your company?" Yukimura gave him a question in answer to his question. "I'm lonely, you know."

Yukimura said with a shrug of his shoulders and an exaggerated voice that made Ryoma think that he was anything but lonely.

Ryoma frowned. "You don't seem lonely at all."

"But I am."

Yukimura didn't seem the type who would be lonely but rather the type who would enjoy solitude and silence; he was the artistic type after all, which Ryoma had discovered today but Ryoma doubted that this was all to him.

The corner of Yukimura's lips twitched into a smile. "I'm just joking; there's a particular reason why I asked you to come here. I've a favor to ask of you."

"What kind of favor?"

"Can you get a dress for me?"

Ryoma was taken back, frowning with distaste. He'd taken Yukimura for many things but _not_ a cross-dresser. "What would you want with a _dress_?"

"It's not for me. It's for a friend who happens to be a model."

"Oh." Now he felt embarrassed for his rudeness. "I see. Well, su-sure, I can get that dress for you," he stammered.

Yukimura smiled. "Good. You'll be paid for your services, of course."

Ryoma nodded with a blush, still embarrassed. "Thanks."

Then, he showed the final bites of rice into himself before holding out the bowl. "Oh, and I want seconds."

Yukimura just laughed good-naturedly.

-§-

"Who in their right minds would wear such a dress?" Ryoma mumbled to himself as he held the dress by its hanger against the sunlight that shone through the windows. The dress was dark blue and completely transparent, so that the wearer's body would only be protected by the harness underneath but then again, the harness didn't cover the nipples, which re-opened the question if everyone could indeed see how the color of the wearer's nipples?

"Someone who has the right body and the right mind for it," the staff lady answered him with amusement.

Ryoma turned to her, the corner of his lips twitching upwards into a skeptical, humorless smirk. "Righhhht."

The woman chuckled. "Well, this dress isn't meant to be everyday wear but high fashion."

"High fashion, huh? I still think I wouldn't want to walk around in a dress in which everyone can see what color my nipples are."

She chuckled harder. "You've quite a sharp sense of humor. I like that."

Ryoma shrugged. "Maybe."

"But maybe you should file a complain about that dress. Maybe the designer might listen to you?" The lady teased.

Ryoma snorted. "Yeah, as if. I've no idea about fashion- _women's_ fashion anyway."

"Hm, I wonder about that. You're quite the fashionable boy, my dear."

She was referring to the outfit he was currently wearing: a sharp white jacket, black T-shirt and dog-tags, compatible with jeans and designer sneakers.

Ryoma shrugged casually. Many Japanese boys knew how to dress themselves but he couldn't say the same for the Americans – or, he shuddered for a moment, the Germans. Some American guys had good style he had to admit but the Germans were a catastrophe in terms of fashion – please note: the German _guys_ in _high-school and college_ , not the girls or the top fashion designers. You didn't want to know what he had seen during his oversea-trips to Europe or on the photos some of his friends had sent him. Seriously, they wouldn't pass their exams anyway, even with help, so why didn't they spend their money on a personal stylist or fashion magazine instead of a tutor?

"How about you become one of our models for the male fashion, my dear?"

Ryoma had never played with the thought of becoming a fashion model, though. He had always loved fashion, regarding it as an important aspect of life and believing that if you dressed right you could get everywhere. It was a blessing that the Seigaku's uniforms had received an update during the second year in middle school, and ended up resembling Rikkai's and/or Hyotei's in terms of design. Seigaku's black jackets had no shape or good cut, looking horrible no matter how you buttoned them – they were an insult for the eyes, severely downplaying the physique of one's body.

"No, thanks. I've no interest in running in boxer-shorts that tell everyone how well-equipped I'm _down there_."

The lady laughed again, and Ryoma rolled his eyes.

-§-

Ryoma had to take the bullet-train back to Yukimura's place because the shop he had just visited for the dress was located in another city, and it took an hour and a half ride to it by train. Riding the train for such a long distance was never fun, and Ryoma didn't like books while he had also already bought the newest Vogue fashion magazine as well. He didn't want to spend money on the cheaper magazines because it was much better to spend money on something with value than on many cheap imitations.

Ryoma sighed.

There was not much that could be done on a train anyway. The garment bag was stored above and Ryoma lounging on his seat in boredom.

Little did he know that rest of his travel in the train would not be boring.

Half an hour before his arrival, he received a message from an unknown number.

 _Are you looking for me, Echizen Ryoma?_

Ryoma frowned, trying to find any information about the unknown sender but there was nothing _._ He bit his lips but decided to write back anyway. _Who is that?_ Ryoma typed, then paused monumentally. _Ryoga is that you?_

 _Maybe… maybe not._

 _Don't play games! Tell me who you're!_

Then, there was a pause.

 _I want you._

Ryoma froze. _You're not Ryoga._

Ryoga would never tell him that _he wanted him_ , even if it was for the sake of mind-fucking him.

 _Now you're scared._

Tension settled in the muscles of the back of Ryoma's neck as he walked to the section that sold food and drinks, getting himself a bottle of Pepsi since they didn't have Ponta here.

 _Soft drinks aren't healthy, boy._

Ryoma's heart skipped a beat when he read the message. _How do you know_? _Are you stalking me?!_

 _Do you think I am?_

Paranoid, Ryoma looked around, carefully surveying his environment but all he could see were American people, which made wondered if his stalker was an American. However, none of the women or men were looking at him, submerged in their own business instead. He frowned. He'd received the message just a moment ago, which meant that his stalker must've been in this section and that he'd been looking at him just a moment ago, too.

 _Searching for me?_

Ryoma pressed his lips into a thin, hard line before he replied, _Are you here?_

 _Would you like to find out?_

Ryoma hesitated with the answer but then again he had never been someone who was a chicken or someone easily intimidated, wasn't he? He typed: _Yes._

 _Very good. Are you good at math?_ His stalker asked.

 _Why are you asking?_

 _Because we're going to play a game now._ His stalker declared, then gave him the task:

 _If there are 87000 passengers riding 300 trains on a daily basis, how many passengers ride_ _ **1**_ _train on a daily basis? You have one minute to answer this question._

Ryoma hated it when his intelligence was questioned, even if it was merely his mathematical intelligence that was questioned. He had always been at the top of his class, even though he had often copied his friends' homework or sometimes forced the nerds into helping him. The methods he had used in high-school weren't ethical but they had paid off and brought him to the top. And, he'd stopped in University anyway.

 _Are you mocking me? The answer is 290._ Ryoma answered, then added. _Rule of Three._

 _Hm, quite the fast thinker, aren't you? True, the rule of three is an easy method but it can be hard if you've a time limit and big numbers._

 _Well, next question, then. This train has five departments: a,b,c,d,e. There're 58 seats in every department, except for e where there're only 50 seats, so tell me, in which department am I going to be most likely?_

Ryoma calculated. If all the departments contained 58 seats, then the distribution of probability would be even: 1/5 for each department. However, he was most likely not going to be in department _a_ because it was First Class and at the very front from where his stalker wouldn't be able to survey him well. He would also not likely be in department _e_ because it was equipped with only 50 seats, fewer seats for him to hide.

It clicked in Ryoma's head. He was either in _b_ or d _._ There was a 50 percent chance of possibility for each of them. He sprinted to department d because he assumed that stalkers always preferred to watch their victims from behind but when he had reached department _b_ , he was in for a disappointment. It consisted of only a class of kindergarten kids and their average looking female teachers, who had their hands full with supervising their proteges. Even if they had left this department to stalk him, it would have been difficult with a kid.

Ryoma exhaled angrily.

 _You're not in d._

 _No, I'm not. Too bad, you lost._

 _We'll see about that._

Angered about his loss, Ryoma turned around and headed back to his department because time was up. At the next station, he would've to get out.

-§-

"Too bad, isn't it, boya?" From behind the automatic glass-doors that led to the department in front of him, Ryoma's stalker watched him with an amused smirk in the shadows. "You ruled out the possibility that I might be here because the probability is so low. And, that's exactly why you lost."

The sign above him read: _e_.

When Ryoma returned to his department, a guy decked in black and face half-hidden by a cap ran into Ryoma, holding him tightly around the waist to fish out the wallet in Ryoma's denim jeans. Ryoma reacted in an instant, slamming his elbow into the side of his mugger's neck, causing him to stumble forward and lose his balance but only temporary. The mugger did not fall, tearing himself away from Ryoma with his haul and rushing to the train's open doors, bumping into the waiting passengers outside but managing to escape nevertheless.

"Hey wait!" Ryoma yelled after him but it was already too late.

The mugger was already gone.

...


End file.
